Books of the Year that Was

January 7, 2016 / JRLonas / 7 Comments

Previously posted on the all-too-neglected Disciple blog.

Since 2010, I’ve joined the custom of sharing a “booklist” of a few top reads of the past year. Looking back on these posts, I note that I have also made it a tradition to miss the 12/31 deadline for this also. Oh well. Here goes another. As always, what follows is not an exhaustive list, but a selection of some of my favorite reads of the year sorted by genre. Not all are from Christian publishers (or authors), but they each blessed or challenged me in some way. Also, many of these were not published within the year, but I encountered them for the first time in 2015. Such lists posted by others often help me discover noteworthy new books and build a reading list for the coming year, and I hope this serves the same purpose for you.

Theology/Christian Living

Luther on the Christian Life by Carl R. Trueman
From my review: “This short volume is richly packed with scriptural and practical insight. Trueman begins by briefly summarizing Luther’s biography, illuminating the personal and cultural contexts that influenced his study, teaching, and actions. In this, he reminds us that theology never happens in a vacuum, and that there are very real consequences to our belief and our choices. Notably, Trueman urges readers to consider all of Luther’s life and work, not just his exuberant, bold pre-1525 writings (before which he had not had to wrestle extensively with the need for liturgical and ecclesiological precision in order to protect church order, among other things).”

What Does the Bible Really Teach about Homosexuality? By Kevin DeYoung
From my review: “For such a short book, there is much to digest here. DeYoung ties together the big picture of God’s sovereignty, holiness, and love with the details of sexual morality and its practical effects in our lives and churches. His deft shoring up of the biblical view on marriage should embolden Christians to remain faithful to God and His Word as the cultural pressure continues to mount. His restatement of these truths is also a winsome appeal, for the sake of the Gospel, to those who disagree. Moreover, the book offers blunt but loving rebukes to those who attempt to remain within the Church while affirming revision of Christian morality, and challenges the “live and let live” crowd to consider the cost of their withdrawal from the discussion. DeYoung, who is not yet 40, writes with the pastoral and personal urgency of someone who must engage the issue, someone who will still be preaching, teaching, and counseling, long after this cultural shift and all it entails is complete.”

Why We Pray by William Philip
From my review: “[Philip] shows how God’s work in us enables, motivates, and sustains our prayer. Because it is God’s work, not ours, prayer becomes not an obligation but a blessing. In seeking a straightforward reason for prayer and finding it in the manifold grace of God, Philip has produced a work which should be helpful and encouraging to believers everywhere. We are often burdened and downcast in our striving to follow Christ, and the absence of prayer is often the cause. This humble little book seeks to restore prayer into our lives by taking it off the “to-do” list and bringing it back to the center of our relationship with our Maker and Savior.”

History/Biography

The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William L. Shirer
Still the definitive story of 1933-1945 in Europe, based on original sources (private and official documents from German citizens and Nazi and Italian leaders) and the author’s own eyewitness account as a journalist and war correspondent. Thorough and well-written, Shirer keeps a readable pace with enough nuance to allow complicated events and gruesome details to sink in. If there is a weakness, it is Shirer’s propagation of the caricature of the German people as a proud, militaristic, nationalistic group who were low-hanging fruit for a megalomaniacal Hitler. This is a persistent feature in much interpretation of the time period, but it glosses over the global tendency to place our hope in human leadership to give us power and secure our wealth and peace. Weimar Germany provided a perfect incubator for this, it is true, but at least one enduring lesson of the Third Reich is the danger of placing such unalloyed trust in a man or his government. The führerprinzip is a temptation such as is common to man, and we would be fools to think it died with Hitler in 1945.

Jacksonland by Steve Inskeep
A well-ordered and even-handed overview of the history of the steady defeat and exile of the “Five Civilized Tribes” of the Southeastern U.S. (Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Seminole). Specifically, Inskeep zeroes in on the Cherokees, which made the book of particular interest to me as a Chattanoogan. I live on land that used to belong to that tribe, and Chief John Ross’ former house is just five minutes from mine. Ross’ 20-year chess game with federal and state governments receives a play-by-play here. The history of removal is complex and less popularly studied than it needs to be, and Jacksonland is an excellent foray into correcting this imbalance. Inskeep’s storytelling skill keeps the narrative moving, and through the ups and downs of the political process, he manages to keep the reader hoping that the outcome could be something other than the tragedy and national shame it became.

The Wright Brothers by David McCullough
Typical McCullough…top-notch and well-paced. A bit shorter than most of his bios, but I suppose private citizens have less material to document their lives than presidents. Wilbur & Orville set an example of the power of observation, patience, and diligence that resonates in our over-stimulated modern world (which, ironically, their invention helped create). As Wilbur put it “If I were giving a young man advice as to how he might succeed in life, I would say to him, pick out a good father and mother, and begin life in Ohio.”

Fiction

A Canticle for Liebowitz by William M. Miller
Miller’s enduring tale of the recovery of civilization centuries after a nuclear holocaust. As Ray Bradbury said, science fiction/post-apocalyptic stories at their best attempt to explore the possible to shock men into thinking more critically about the probable. Miller did that well, to be sure. His is a very Christian (Catholic) vision with the dark shadow of original sin occluding any wishful thinking about the future, but the hope of God’s ongoing work breaks through.

My Ántonia and Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
The only author from whom I read two books this year. My Ántonia is bittersweet and beautiful. I never thought of Nebraska with such tenderness. The themes of place, home, family, unrequited love, coming of age, and immigrant experience are deftly handled and give the story weight, but it is the American-ness of it all that gives it a worthy place in our national canon. Archbishop likewise has descriptions of land and sky make you stop and re-read paragraphs for the sheer wonder of it. This story of spiritual fortitude and the persistence of paganism ought to be required reading for missionaries.

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe
From my review: “I have seldom read such a Christian novel. Robinson goes to sea against the loving advice of his father, instantly regrets it, and just as quickly forgets his regret. He is tossed about by storms, enslaved by pirates, nearly killed by wild animals, and forced to settle in a foreign land. Still, he refuses to turn from his wandering (and increasingly wicked) ways, and eventually becomes involved in a business scheme to buy African slaves for his farm. This is the endeavor that results in his most famous shipwreck and marooning on this uninhabited island. There, though, the isolation, mysterious provision of all his needs by God, and the Bible he procured from the ship work to soften his heart so that he cries out in repentance. The theological clarity of Crusoe’s prayer and understanding of salvation is astonishing. Even his later interaction with the cannibals and his “man Friday” are filled with an inner dialogue which mingles fear, trust in God’s sovereignty, and missionary zeal.”

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
As a book lover, I’ve always been somewhat embarrassed by my unfamiliarity with Russian Literature. It can be long, dense, and confusing. Plus, literature and language are so intertwined that even the best of translations have difficulty capturing the true measure of a story. Even so, I put my best “self-improvement” motivations into gear last year and picked up Crime and Punishment. To my pleasant surprise, it was beautiful, comprehensible, engaging, moving, and instructive. Dostoevsky proved less to be an impediment to my literary coming of age than a gateway drug to this world.

Philosophy/Other

How Dante Can Save Your Life by Rod Dreher
From my review: “Dreher has cooked up a very interesting blend of confessional memoir, literary commentary, and spiritual help, and it works astonishingly well. Each of these styles independently can be difficult to render engaging to readers, but the whole is strengthened by the inclusion of all three. Crucially, he takes us on an instructive journey through his own struggles and spiritual healing without bluntly prescribing any canned self-help quick fixes. Few things are more unhelpful than books in which authors demand that readers follow the same steps that led to their particular personal breakthrough. Dreher steers clear of those rocks, offering instead a very personal story (though one which, certainly, has application for many) and some key “takeaway points” while respecting readers’ differing needs and personalities.”

Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman
A truly monumental summary of a life’s work in psychology. Read slowly, or you’ll miss much. Kahneman’s research shows with terrifying detail how little your conscious mind controls your perceptions. The scientific evidence of the dangers of trusting oneself abounds here, and he is only speaking of observable, physical outcomes, not spiritual matters. I lost the ball in the weeds a few times, but he endeavors to keep this on a popular level for readability. Much to chew on.

How Dante Can Save Your Life

July 4, 2015February 10, 2017 / JRLonas / 1 Comment

Reading the great books of Western Civilization is supposed to be enlightening, ennobling, and (let’s face it) a source of pride and pretension for literati everywhere. What if encountering a part of that canon sets you off on a journey of spiritual discovery, striking the very core of self-knowledge and daily life? This was Rod Dreher’s experience when, during a low period of his life, he browsed through bookstore, picked up Dante Alighieri’s Inferno and read, “Midway in the journey of our life I came to myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.” He was hooked, giving himself over to the guidance of the great Florentine poet for the journey.

In allowing us to follow him into and out of his own “dark wood,” Dreher has cooked up a very interesting blend of confessional memoir, literary commentary, and spiritual help. It works astonishingly well. Each of these styles independently can be difficult to render engaging to readers, but the whole is strengthened by the inclusion of all three.

Crucially, he takes us on an instructive journey through his own struggles and spiritual healing without bluntly prescribing any canned self-help quick fixes. Few things are more unhelpful than books in which authors demand readers follow the same steps that led to their particular personal breakthrough. Dreher steers clear of those rocks, offering instead a very personal story (though one which, certainly, has application for many) and some key “takeaway points” while respecting readers’ differing needs and personalities. There are a lot more sins and failures on display than successes, put forth with endearing vulnerability that disarms readers and invites us along for the journey.

This is a follow-on to his The Little Way of Ruthie Leming: A Southern Girl, a Small Town, and the Secret of a Good Life. While How Dante can stand on its own well enough, reading Ruthie Leming first helps get the full value from the continuing story. I’ve been regularly following Dreher’s blog for several years, and was looking forward to this after seeing it develop in daily posts last year. It was even better than anticipated. He leads us into his own “dark wood” and relates the way that the Commedia, his priest, and a Southern Baptist therapist worked in concert to reveal his hurts and sins and put him on the road to redemption.

As in Ruthie Leming, Dreher sounds the depths of familial love, disappointments, and dashed expectations. Both books stem from his experience of growing up in a small Louisiana town, leaving to see the world, finding success as a journalist and joy as a husband and father, and then attempting to return home to West Feliciana parish. Both explore the rootedness that anchored his parents, sister, and cousins there while so eluding him. This second journey into the family realm, though, shows the darkness that comes from when we turn our dreams into idols, asking good and natural things to bear the weight of ultimate questions they were not designed to carry. Through Dante’s journey, Dreher’s frustrations and disappointments were revealed to him as the Lord’s wrenching idols from his grasp, forcing him to repent and return to trust in God for life’s strength and meaning.

I can heartily commend this to you, but it comes with my standard Dreher caveats. I love the guy, he writes on my wavelength and is culturally of my “tribe” (Southern, cosmopolitan, foodie, homeschool dad, etc.), but I have to recommend his theological work with a grain of salt. He is emphatically Orthodox, and rather given to the mystical aspects of the faith that the Eastern tradition inclines toward. Still, if you (like me) are emphatically Evangelical, don’t let that stop you from learning from Dreher and his Medieval Catholic mentor, Dante. There is good fruit here, and lessons to ponder long after you close the book.

For Further Review…

May 4, 2015June 1, 2015 / JRLonas / 1 Comment

A brief update to “The Curious Difficulty of Numinous Fiction”

A friend (who serves as a missionary in Latvia) shared this comment via my wife’s Facebook page (I, myself, still a Zuckerberg denier):

“Here are a couple thoughts in reaction: 1) Maybe one reason American Protestants (I think really it is more of an “evangelical” problem than a protestant one) don’t write better fiction is that there is insufficient market for it. I mean, why does LifeWay sell Thomas Kinkade prints and not better art? 2) Here I am just thinking out loud; this is just an idea for conversation/controversy. You ask: ‘Why is it that those who take the Bible most literally and believe Reformed doctrine most fully write fiction most dreadfully?’ Maybe that is the problem? Evangelicals (again, I think it is more of an evangelical problem than a Protestant one) have a need to read too much literally and insufficiently value symbol, indirection, “telling the truth slant” (to borrow a phrase from Emily Dickinson). And perhaps Reformed doctrine thinks everything can be systemetized into neat boxes, or sees too much in black and white, instead of shades of gray in which real life is lived. I would suggest that neither of those two ways of thinking are helpful for good fiction. By the way, it seems to me that John Updike, John Irving, and Frederick Buechner should figure in the discussion.”

Continue reading →

The Curious Difficulty of Numinous Fiction

April 30, 2015January 23, 2019 / JRLonas / 6 Comments

Why do so many Protestant writers on the numinous (or even the religious) come across disingenuous, cloying, or false? If, as Joseph Bottum and others have suggested, the novel is essentially a Protestant art form, why is it that those who take the Bible most literally and believe Reformed doctrine most fully write fiction most dreadfully?

Of course, there are manifold exceptions (Defoe, Austen, Brontë, etc.). Perhaps the better question is to ask why the world of doctrine and spiritual life, of a real and active God, so brilliantly articulated in Protestant sermons so often fails to animate our works of fiction? Bottum argues that the form itself, so encoded with the Protestant understanding of the individual’s relationship to God and the world (in which the inner, spiritual life is paramount), collapses under its own weight when too self-consciously attempting to portray spiritual realities. He writes, “To write a Protestant novel is, instead, to do something a little unnecessary, a little verging on the redundant. And when a deliberately Protestant novel fails, it often fails because it seems didactic and preachy, engaged in what the art form itself promises that readers can take for granted.”

In the twentieth century, particularly the post-war era, the literary voices in Britain and America most able to capture the realm of faith were overwhelmingly Catholic—Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, Flannery O’Connor, Walker Percy, William M. Miller (A Canticle for Liebowitz). The best “Protestant” writers of the period were mostly secular in life and work—Robert Penn Warren, Harper Lee, William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, etc. Serious Protestant writing flowered in extremes of abstraction or concretion: poetry (Eliot and Auden) and theology (Lewis, Stott, etc.).

Looking heavenward in a material world.

Among these Catholic writers, themes of faith are handled in very different ways. Greene’s The Power and the Glory is a very Catholic story about a very bad Catholic, but God comes across convincingly (though subtly) as the main actor. Miller imagines how the Church can continue and rebuild society after a nuclear holocaust. O’Connor’s short stories are memorable for the violent intrusion of grace into the lives of smugly self-satisfied characters (through the theft of an artificial leg in “Good Country People” or a high-velocity book to the forehead in “Revelation”). Waugh and Percy’s characters (Charles Ryder, Binx Bolling, Will Barrett) explore dead-ends of selfish personal fulfillment, reaching beautiful resolution by the merest hint at conversion.

Why in this barbaric, scientistic, hypersexualized modern world (to which Scripture has so much to say) have Catholics rather than Protestants (particularly Bible-drenched evangelicals) handled the interaction between God and Creation so much more believably? This is a line of questioning that I’ve wrestled with for a long time (as a member of that most insufferable class–aspiring writers) and one that seems of peculiar importance in a day that promises less and less attention to traditional modes of Christian discourse.